


Improper

by monkeycat



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, One Shot, Romantic Fluff, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26490304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeycat/pseuds/monkeycat
Summary: An etiquette lesson for the Inquisitor turns into a reminder of a painful time in her childhood.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Improper

**Author's Note:**

> A very short piece I wrote in response to a r/dragonage prompt. Fluff in every sense of the word, but I liked the idea of Cullen and the Inquisitor stealing random moments during the day to share some affection.

Evelyn stared at the array of silverware in front of her. The line of forks glinted mockingly in the late afternoon sun, causing her to squint ungracefully as she contemplated her options. Surely this must be Josephine’s idea of a joke. She’d seen armories with fewer blades than the collection of cutlery laid out before her.

“What in the Maker’s name is all this?” she demanded.

Across the table from her, Josephine smiled encouragingly, like a mother trying to coax along a particularly recalcitrant child. “Now we are properly established in Skyhold, we will soon be expected to entertain guests of a more elevated status. It is important for us to make allies with the right people if we are to win this battle against Corypheus.”

“How is inviting a bunch of rich twats to dinner going to help us defeat a darkspawn magister and his red templar army? Are we going to fatten them up and use them as shields?”

Cullen snorted. “That is one way to make them useful.”

“Both of you are being childish.” Leliana’s level gaze was somehow far more intimidating than Josephine’s exasperated glare. Evelyn dropped her gaze, chagrined. “Wars aren’t only about the battlefield. Soldiers need weapons and food, horses and medicine. Without the support of the nobility, we cannot hope to win this war.”

“Fine.” Evelyn sighed in defeat, shaking out her napkin onto her lap with the air of a woman resigning herself to something rather unpleasant. “I suppose I can endure an hour of insipid conversation if it means our people are warm and fed.”

Josephine let out an audible sigh of relief and gestured to someone beyond one of the doorways. Almost immediately, a line of servants filed quietly into the room and presented each person at the table with a plate of salad.

Evelyn stared down at the tasteful arrangement of leafy greens on her plate. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she cautiously picked up one of her many forks.

“The other one, please.”

Evelyn grit her teeth, put her utensil down, and picked up the smallest fork. Josephine delicately cleared her throat. “Ah, the other other one.”

She set the fork down with a discordant clatter. “Which fork is the correct one for stabbing myself in the eye?”

“It’s improper to be seen doing that.” Leliana said serenely, infuriatingly unperturbed by Evelyn’s ire. “If you really must stab your eye with your fork, we would recommend you do it after our guests have left.”

“I thought our goal was to make sure our guests had a good time.” Evelyn smiled sweetly at her spymaster. “The very least I can do is provide some entertainment.”

“I do beg your pardon, Inquisitor,” Josephine said in her most diplomatic tone. “But as the daughter of a noble house, surely a formal dinner setting is something you are familiar with.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but mages living in the Circle don’t really get invited to many formal dinners.” Evelyn snapped, her voice rising with her temper. “The last time I had dinner at home was when I was seven, the night before they sent me away, and I ate it in my room because my family were all terrified I would accidentally turn them into toads.”

A sudden silence greeted her words. Evelyn realized she was gripping her fork tightly in her fist as if she really did mean to stab someone with it. With an effort, she relaxed her hold, laid it down gently on the table, and picked up the correct one. Her hand moved mechanically to jab at the pile of lettuce on her plate, though she could barely see through the haze that was blurring her sight. Her throat felt so tight she could barely swallow. She focused everything she had on keeping back the tears. She was the Inquisitor, the damned Herald of Andraste. Not a bloody child. It had been over ten years ago, and she’d long since made peace with the fact that her parents were a couple of ignorant, parochial assholes who only cared about gossiping, bickering, and scheming for the sake of their own petty ambitions. So why did the memory of being banished to her room to eat her dinner alone still hold so much bitterness for her?

By the time she’d managed to compose herself and look up with some semblance of calm, everyone had silently disappeared – save Cullen. He was looking at her intently, concern wrinkling his brow.

“Are you all right? Would you rather be alone?”

She shook her head and even managed a deprecating laugh. “I see that I’ve managed to scare everyone else away. How annoyed was Leliana when Josephine shoved her out the door?”

“Leliana was the one who cleared the room.” Cullen countered.

“Oh.” Evelyn replied in a small voice.

There was another drawn-out moment of silence, during which Evelyn stared at her lettuce and tried to think of something to say that would reassure Cullen she was a worthy leader and not a petulant child having a temper tantrum over silverware. The worst part about being Inquisitor, she’d discovered, wasn’t the long hours or the life-threatening battles. It was the constant expectation to be all things to all people – a courageous fighter on the battlefield, a pious Herald of Andraste, an accomplished mage, a champion of the downtrodden. And now, a skilled wielder of silverware, apparently. She would give so much for a day where she could just be herself – to snap at people she didn’t like, to laugh out loud at inappropriate jokes or cry when she felt upset. It was a childish want, she knew, but knowing that didn’t make it go away.

“You know,” Cullen said in a conversational tone, “The Chasind eat all their food with their bare hands. You could have Josephine draw up a document that decrees this to be the new policy at Skyhold. We are trying to be welcoming to all backgrounds, after all.”

Evelyn had to laugh at the thought of Josephine’s face upon being presented such a proposal. “Tempting. I would pay good money to see our Lady Ambassador tearing into her chicken leg with nothing but her fingers and teeth. She’d probably rather starve.”

“Well.” Cullen frowned in a parody of deep thought. “I can demand that the kitchen give up all its silverware and turn it over to the smithy. We can say there is an urgent need to stockpile weapons against the possibility of a werewolf attack. I’m afraid every last salad fork and teaspoon will be necessary.”

“Werewolves?” Evelyn’s exclamation rippled with more laughter. “Yes, because we’ve seen so many of those in Corypheus’s army so far.”

“Never hurts to be prepared.”

He shrugged and grinned at her, and Evelyn thought her heart would melt. Then his hand reached out to caress her cheek in a tender gesture that nearly made her tear up again. She leaned into his palm, savoring the feeling of his rough callouses against her skin, the familiar smell of leather and metal and something else that was just him, comforting and evocative all at once. He tangled his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her towards him until their lips met over the plates of salad. For a precious moment she forgot about childhood memories and stuffy dignitaries and bothersome silverware and simply lost herself in his kiss, her chest filling with warmth even as her thighs tightened with the beginnings of desire.

When they finally separated, she shot him her best wide-eyed look of shock. “It’s improper to be seen doing that, Commander,” she chided in an echo of Leliana’s earlier admonishment.

He chuckled, a masculine sound that she could feel all the way in her lower belly. “My deepest apologies, Inquisitor. Perhaps we can reschedule for a more appropriate time?”

Evelyn cleared her throat. “Indeed, Commander. Sooner rather than later, I think. But in the meantime…”

She picked up her fork and mustered her most gracious smile, the kind she practiced for her Inquisitor face. Back to work it was.

“Salad?"


End file.
